


Where is all the time that heals?

by MiserableLie95



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Reunion Sex, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableLie95/pseuds/MiserableLie95
Summary: Post-Smiths, 1992. Reunion between Morrissey and Johnny in Dublin during a break in Morrissey's touring schedule.





	Where is all the time that heals?

\- “Was it your manager who told you that it’d be a good idea to reconnect?” Morrissey asked. He looked down at the drink in his hand as a waiter passed their table, tucked away in a darkened corner of a inconspicuous Dublin restaurant. 

“No,” Johnny replied quickly. “I didn’t tell anyone.” 

“Is that out of shame? Or are you trying to protect your new image?” Morrissey inquired. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, watching Johnny watch him. Johnny would hate it if he knew Morrissey had done that just to see how closely he was looking, testing if his eyes still followed every movement even when it seemed like he didn’t notice. 

“Are you going to answer?” 

“Stop it,” Johnny said quietly. 

Johnny wanted to regain control of the conversation, take the situation back into his hands, but he never quite managed to do that with Morrissey around. He knew what he looked like. Crawling back to his former singer as he reached new heights in his career as a solo artist while he just fucked around in Manchester with a crowd that kept him up all night and made his mind too fuzzy to write anything of note. Pathetic. He wouldn't blame Morrissey if he got up and left him sitting there with his mouth open. 

“What exactly do you want from me?” Morrissey asked. 

The singer looked looked up again, sharp blue eyes narrowed but still earnest across the table from his former guitarist. The sight made Johnny’s chest tighten with guilt. He had hoped he could shake that off in time, but it didn’t seem possible. He’d never be forgiven for leaving the band, or for leaving the man sitting across from him, no matter how many records Morrissey sold on his own. Johnny took a sip from his gin and tonic, setting it back down on the table a little too hard, making the contents slosh around. 

“Have I got to want something from you every time I see you?” Johnny asked. 

“You usually do.”

“I didn’t come here to argue,” Johnny told him. 

“Would you care to tell me what it is you’re looking for then?” Morrissey asked. “Or will I have to search all the latest magazines for the truth after you’ve left?” 

“Moz, you can’t tell me you actually believe what’s written about us by the press. They’d write fucking anything to sell a couple more magazines,” Johnny exclaimed. 

“They’re all saying you can’t stand me now and I haven’t heard anything to the contrary. Certainly not from you, anyway,” Morrissey said loftily. He wanted to sound distant, but his eyebrows furrowed on their own accord. He had been made to wait too long for Johnny to reach out, and it stung. 

“Of course it’s not true,” Johnny insisted. “What’s actually happening is I’ve been trying to distance myself… Not from you…” he amended hurriedly. “From who I was in The Smiths, I guess. I don’t know - I’ve got to do something, haven’t I?” 

Morrissey watched Johnny’s face as he tried to explain, alight with his ideas and his passions. He missed that. Johnny was one of those people who only felt good while moving. It had become tiresome after a while, but he was young. Morrissey felt him reaching to try to justify his actions, but it didn’t bother him the way it would with anyone else. Johnny wasn’t anyone else. He could still say that. He felt a flicker of protectiveness over his former partner as he struggled to go on with his career after disbanding The Smiths. He’d done it to himself, of course, but Morrissey saw him just as afloat as he was himself. 

“Yes, I see what you’re saying,” Morrissey said evenly. 

“I just… Want you to know, me changing things about myself and the type of music I write absolutely has nothing to do with you - I swear. That’s just the way the media is perceiving it. I can’t make them understand… You know very well yourself that most of what they say in the press is shite.” 

“Oh, they were right about some things,” Morrissey reminded him. 

The press had printed an awful lot of brutal questions about the two of them, the nature of their relationship, the way that things were between the heads of the band and the rest of the world. It had been true that it was everyone versus them, back in the group. Their togetherness could not be ignored, and it just so happened that the music press, as well as Manchester locals, were part-time detectives when it came to piecing together Morrissey’s supposed celibacy with his intensely-close relationship with Johnny. In the end, they couldn’t hide it, despite the fact that they tried their best to be as discreet as they could manage. It was too much to bear. 

“Listen, Morrissey. I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t fucking stand you. All right? Isn’t this enough proof?” 

Johnny leaned in a little closer, shifting towards Morrissey against the high wooden booth. He wished the singer didn’t look as good as he did, leaning his elbows on the table in a checkered shirt with a few buttons undone to show an expanse of tanned skin from months in California. Johnny let his eyes wander before he spoke, then had to look away before his mind moved back to memories of his lips covering every inch of the man across from him. 

“Forget about everything else,” Johnny said in a low voice. “Just let it be what it is. Two old friends having some drinks and catching up, yeah?” He clapped his hand on Morrissey’s knee in what he hoped looked like an encouraging gesture, when in reality he just wanted to touch him any way he could. 

“Of course,” Morrissey said dryly.

His eyes were downcast as he finished what was left in his glass, and Johnny twisted in his seat to catch the attention of someone from the bar staff in order to have another round sent over. It took a couple more drinks, and then the boundaries went down again, and they talked openly and in detail as they caught up with each other’s lives. 

“Tell me, what on god’s earth you mean to accomplish with psychedelic drugs and baggy clothes?” Morrissey demanded at one point. 

“It’s an aesthetic choice,” Johnny laughed. “I think it’s lost on you.” 

“It is,” Morrissey agreed. He looked down into his drink, but he was smiling. 

“Drugs still don’t appeal to you at all?” Johnny asked.

“Well, some drugs,” Morrissey said softly. 

“I mean party drugs,” Johnny said. He wouldn’t count Morrissey’s penchant for divulging into prescription drugs to get through the tough days. He was crunching on an ice cube, waiting for the waiter to come around again for another drink. 

“I tried ecstasy a couple times,” Morrissey admitted.

Johnny raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer. They were already sitting closer than most men would, but they were in a side room of the restaurant, placed strategically in a corner by a leafy potted tree, so Johnny didn’t feel like he was putting either of them in jeopardy when he let his leg press up against Morrissey’s and angled his upper body towards him. 

“I liked it at the time,” Morrissey said. “I can see why people enjoy it. But it still doesn’t interest me very much.” 

“I wish I could’ve seen you on E,” Johnny laughed. 

“I took it alone twice,” Morrissey said. 

“Oh, come on. It’s meant to be taken when you’re-“ 

“With someone,” Morrissey interrupted. “Yes, I know. But we can’t all have that luxury.” 

“I’ve had it in bed a few times. Absolutely phenomenal,” Johnny mused. 

“I’ve been told it’s quite good like that,” Morrissey said. “I can’t say I’d know.” 

He finished what was left of his drink and spun his empty glass between his hands, not wanting to look up at Johnny again. His heart still burned with that old jealousy. The years dimmed nothing for him, they just left him yearning in vain for what had passed. 

“You know, I never once thought of using it with you,” Johnny said in a low voice. 

“Ah. I’m sure you never thought of doing a lot of things with me,” Morrissey replied after a moment.

Johnny raised his eyebrows. He had been trying to imply that the sex with him had been so good that he didn’t really need a substance to intensify it, but Morrissey wouldn’t dare miss a chance to refer to the pain that Johnny had caused him. He looked down at his drink again, then finished it. They were both getting drunk. There was nothing he could say to dull that pain, so they drank it down instead. So he ordered another round, and waited for Morrissey to show his cards instead. 

“Do you mind being back in Dublin?” Morrissey asked after a while. 

“I don’t know,” Johnny shrugged. “I guess not. I never felt the same thing that you do for Dublin. Maybe ‘cause my parents came over from further outside of here.” 

He pursed his lips for a moment, looking somewhere past Morrissey. It came to mind suddenly after the words left his mouth that it was in Dublin, in 1983- their first gig outside of England, that he and Morrissey had reached another level in their relationship; an understanding, at least. They could be together when they were on tour, in a way that they never really could be at home in England. They spent the days and the nights, after Johnny made his rounds at the pubs with the lads, together, and intertwined. They had spent that entire weekend in Ireland together back in 1983, wandering around every nook and cranny of the city, in and out of every record and book shop they passed, bundled up against December air. He remembered holding Morrissey’s hand in the pocket of his coat on the walk back to their hotel one night, as brazen as Morrissey would dare to act outside of a concert venue, and then the long nights discovering each other’s bodies afterwards. 

“Impressive,” Morrissey laughed. “Either a feat of memory erasure or my perception of important moments is extremely skewed. Tell me, are you really like that now?” Morrissey inquired. 

His voice was light, he was forcing himself to stay in the same tone, to not give in to that bitter, hurt feeling Johnny so easily conjured in him. 

“No, Morrissey,” Johnny said quietly. He wished his body wouldn’t tense up like that every time he said his name. “That’s not what I meant.” 

He wiped his mouth after his next sip and lowered his head, shameful and evasive, as he had learned to be throughout his life after a Catholic upbringing and a knack for getting himself into sticky situations. 

“I’m still the same man,” Johnny said. 

“Exactly the same man?” 

“For better or for worse.”

“Thank god,” Morrissey said. “You left me wondering.”

He let out a deep breath and slouched in his seat for a moment, stretching his legs out in front of him. He couldn’t help but fear that the years would push them further and further apart. His thigh pressed up against Johnny’s deliberately, and their eyes met knowingly. Nothing had changed, then. Morrissey took a sip of his drink and smiled faintly as he settled his hand on Johnny’s leg. Johnny swallowed, his thighs spreading by instinct to accept his old partner’s touch.

“Is this what you wanted?” Morrissey asked innocently. 

The tone of his voice made it seem like they were simply discussing plans for the next day while a love that had withstood years and miles and innumerable hang-ups rekindled between the two of them.

Johnny nodded, unable to speak for a moment as Morrissey’s hand moved along the inside of his thigh. His mind raced, his body was practically buzzing from anticipation and a flood of emotions and hormones. This was it, then. This was the best feeling in the world next to walking on stage with a guitar in hand. He’d tried most drugs on the streets, traveled all around the world, and stayed out for nights on end trying to get that feeling back- while the man who could so easily bring it up in him was right there waiting for him to say the word.

Morrissey smirked and leaned in further, bringing his face level with Johnny’s. If someone were to walk by there would have been no mistaking what was going on between them, but neither could bother to think of that right then. 

“The same man? You mean it, really?” Morrissey asked. 

“You can find out,” Johnny told him. 

Morrissey laughed and put his hand on Johnny’s crotch, fondling him through his jeans. The guitarist was half hard already, and hardened further at the touch. Johnny licked his lips, and wrapped his arm around Morrissey’s waist as discreetly as he could manage, pulling him closer. Morrissey gripped his cock and rubbed his thumb along his length, and Johnny turned his head towards Morrissey, gasping under his breath as he pressed his lips against Morrissey’s neck. 

“I won’t be shagged in a men’s room,” Morrissey said. 

“Are you sure? This is a five star hotel,” Johnny said in a strained voice. 

“I’ve got a room,” Morrissey explained. He removed his hand from Johnny’s cock and finished his drink, trying not to laugh at Johnny’s dazed expression. It was indeed that easy. He figured Johnny had imagined him putting up a fight for it, drawing things out, but he couldn’t see the point in it any more. He knew what he wanted. He only had to wait and see if Johnny knew too. 

“Have another drink then come meet me, room 505.” 

“Moz, wait,” Johnny said as Morrissey went to stand up. “Can’t I come up with you now?” 

“Oh, certainly not,” Morrissey said. “How would it look?” He smoothed his hand over his hair and squared his shoulders, looking down at Johnny. “Order a drink. It’s on my tab,” Morrissey told him. Then he turned and was gone. 

Johnny watched him walk away, his mouth open in awe. He seemed to sure of himself now, shoulders squared and chin up against the world. He was still distinctly on his own, but it didn’t look like it bothered him so much anymore. It took him a minute to calm down again, but when he did, Johnny ordered a shot of vodka and threw it back, then went to the restroom to rinse out his mouth so Morrissey wouldn’t have to taste it on him, like he used to back when they were in the Smiths. 

He all but ran up the stairs to Morrissey’s room, walking as fast as he could without looking suspicious, his eyes on the floor and the collar turned up on his leather jacket. Morrissey had left his door unlocked, and Johnny entered without knocking, finding Morrissey sitting on the edge of his bed with with his jean jacket off, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“You weren’t going to wait for me to undress you?” Johnny asked in mock-annoyance. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the wall, looking over his partner. 

“I felt flushed,” Morrissey said. “The drinks caught up with me for a moment.” 

“I rather think it’s because you were just feeling up a fantastic guitarist and couldn’t quite believe your luck,” Johnny replied. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Morrissey deadpanned, but then he was smiling. 

He got up from the bed and stood before Johnny, looking him over fondly. He waited another moment and then put his arms around Johnny’s neck, pulling the younger man against him.

“I almost cancelled,” Morrissey said. 

“I thought you might,” Johnny murmured. He put his arms around Morrissey’s waist and hugged him tightly. “I’m really pleased that you didn’t.”

He craned his neck and looked up at the singer, his quiff reaching dangerous heights, his body broad from lifting and swimming, tanned from weeks in America, so unlike the wiry muscles and jutting hipbones from when they were younger, when they were different people.

“You know, you look good anywhere you are,” Johnny told him honestly.

He put his hands on Morrissey’s face and looked at him for a moment longer. He was blushing as he met Morrissey’s eyes, and Morrissey smiled bashfully in response; pleased by the compliment and the rare sight of Johnny’s flushed cheeks. 

Morrissey kissed him and then leaned away, keeping their faces close together. Their lips met again and Johnny put his hands in Morrissey’s back pockets, squeezing his arse and pulling him in so that their hips touched. They kissed harder now, their mouths molding together, tongues tangling, Johnny rocking his hips up against Morrissey’s and having the singer grind against him in response, creating friction between bodies which had once been so familiar. 

Morrissey started unbuttoning Johnny’s shirt, pale skin gradually revealed beneath a black button-up. Johnny shrugged out of his jacket and the shirt in the same motion, watching Morrissey’s hands move along his torso. Morrissey furrowed his eyebrows and moved his hand over Johnny’s crotch. He looked at Johnny’s face as he reached to undo the guitarist’s belt and the button of his jeans, pushing them open at the fly. 

“If I remember correctly, and I usually do… I used to do the undressing,” Johnny said against his neck. 

“You can help me out of my shirt,” Morrissey laughed. “Carefully, if you don’t mind. I quite like this one.” 

“Right,” Johnny said. He kissed Morrissey’s neck, then leaned back, looking along his body. “It looks good on you. But I’m afraid it’ll have to go.”

He undid the buttons on Morrissey’s plaid button-up and dropped it on the floor with his shirt. He ran his hands over Morrissey’s shoulders, then felt his biceps, looking over new freckles that he had never seen before from months on sunny coasts. The sight of it made his throat tighten with sorrow. It was his own doing. He could’ve been there, if he wanted to. Morrissey had made that much clear. He took a breath and kissed across Morrissey’s shoulders, like he could taste the sun and the salt of the sea that the singer had bathed in while the two of them had been oceans apart. 

Morrissey rubbed his hands along Johnny’s back while Johnny’s lips diligently covered his shoulders and his neck, unable to stop from inhaling sharply in pleasure when the guitarist sucked and bit at the hollow of his collarbone, sending a jolt through him at the feeling of Johnny’s teeth against his skin. Johnny leaned back a moment and rubbed his thumb against the light bruise that was already beginning to form, pressing on the mark he had made with interest. 

“Do you think I’ll forget you were here?” Morrissey inquired. 

“I think you might want to,” Johnny said heavily.

He kissed the same spot again and Morrissey stayed quiet, putting his hands on Johnny’s face so they could look at each other eye to eye. He didn’t refute Johnny’s claims. He was probably right. He kissed him instead, pushing Johnny against the desk they were stood next to. 

“I don’t want to forget,” Morrissey said softly. He settled himself so that one of Johnny’s legs was between his thighs, and he kissed Johnny’s neck, feeling the guitarist press his leg up against his groin. “Why should I? Morrissey breathed. 

“I don’t know,” Johnny admitted. “So you can get on with your life?” 

Morrissey hummed thoughtfully, trailing kisses across Johnny’s narrow shoulders. He had the guitarist wrapped up in his arms like he was some sort of delicate bird who needed protecting, like the injured ones that had been outside of his kitchen window at his old Chelsea flat. He didn’t know when the roles had reversed; when Johnny stopped shielding him, and when Morrissey started wanting to carry him through everything. 

“This is my life,” Morrissey reminded him. 

He didn’t say- it’s only because of you, but he kissed Johnny again before the guitarist could get a chance to think too much about what he had said. A moment later they were both undressing fully, fumbling with belts and buttons until they could be skin against skin again. Morrissey’s hands spread along Johnny’s back, pushing their bodies together, back where they should’ve been all along. Johnny could feel Morrissey’s cock pressing against him, hard and waiting. Johnny kissed his upper lip first then his lower lip, and next moved along his sharp jawline slowly. 

Johnny’s breath huffed out in a soft gasp when Morrissey reached down and started stroking his cock, working to bring him to complete hardness while they kissed, reacquainting their bodies. Johnny tried to catch his breath and clear his head when Morrissey broke the kiss, but the singer got down on his knees, and his chance passed. 

“Oh, Moz,” Johnny breathed. His voice was soft with anticipation and arousal. 

Morrissey’s hands and his mouth moved over Johnny’s stomach and his hips. He looked up at him with his cupid bow lips parted carefully before he touched his cock again, like he had to wait for permission to give him head. Johnny smoothed back the singer’s hair, his teeth biting into his bottom lip, and their eye contact sorted out anything there was to be said. He gasped at the first touch of Morrissey’s lips against the head of his cock. It didn’t matter how many times it had happened before, Johnny still groaned at the very sight. Morrissey treated his cock like he was dealing with some rare jewel, running his hand along his length slowly after he’d gathered up some saliva, feeling his hardness. He stroked him a few times, listening to Johnny’s breathing hitch. 

When Morrissey leaned in again he kissed and licked along Johnny’s length, then moved lower, cupping his balls in his hand, licking and sucking them. Johnny gasped again, murmuring, “Ohh,” under his breath. Johnny was already breathing heavily when Morrissey started giving him head again, one of his hands gripping the singer’s hair. 

“Oh, baby,” Johnny murmured. He sighed, and brushed back Morrissey’s hair, looking down at him with his mouth open. 

Morrissey moved slowly, teasing Johnny, drawing things out. He kept one hand at the base of Johnny’s cock, sometimes moving down to massage his balls while he sucked him off. He was stroking his own cock with his other hand, which made Johnny groan with want. The guitarist used to protest impatiently right about now that he wanted more, or to buck his hips against Morrissey’s pretty mouth to speed things up, but he wouldn’t dream of it now. 

After another minute Morrissey pulled back and sucked on the head of Johnny’s cock, twirling his tongue around it, moaning softly to himself when he pulled back. Johnny ran his hand along the side of his face, tilting his chin so he’d look up at him. The singer’s cheeks were flushed, and he broke eye contact after a moment, looking embarrassed at the intimate moment, all too human again. 

“Let me have you on the bed,” Johnny said. His voice was choked, but he wasn’t embarrassed by it. These were the familiar roles, the helping hand he used to have to offer when Morrissey was just learning how to be intimate with another person. He kissed Morrissey on the lips when he was back on his feet, and the singer lingered for a moment, leaning his forehead against Johnny’s, then kissed him again. 

He was smiling when Johnny guided him against the mattress, landing on top of him and pulling him into his arms in the same motion. He kissed Morrissey deeply, sighing against his lips as he got to feel his partner against him again. When they broke apart, Morrissey grabbed some pillows and put them under his head, stretching out across the bed. Johnny leaned back to look at him, trailing his fingertips along the singer’s torso. 

“My love, where have you been?” Johnny asked. He moved in towards him and brushed his lips across Morrissey’s muscled abdomen, over his ribs. 

“Everywhere,” Morrissey replied. "But you were gone too." 

“I can’t help but come back,” Johnny said. “You loved me best.” 

“I was too naive to let pride get in the way of things," Morrissey admitted. "I gave everything.” 

“You were in love for the first time,” Johnny said gently. “Do you regret it now?” His eyes were dark and serious, looking up at his partner with his hands on his hips, and he couldn’t help but notice that they still felt the same in his hands. 

“I’ve learned to suffer,” Morrissey smiled. 

“Mozzer,” Johnny breathed. He let his head drop, pressed his lips against the singer’s hipbone. He couldn’t look up again. He was guilty, he knew it. 

“I wonder, sometimes, if all of that was me trying to make you love me…” Morrissey said. “And I ask myself why I let it reach the point that it did… You know, the truth is I couldn’t bear to stop… You were what I always wanted. I knew that I shouldn’t have, but if I had stopped back then- I’d be dead.” 

“I do love you,” Johnny said quickly. He looked up, finally, and swallowed hard. “I had no control over that. But I don’t regret it. I’ve had the time to think about it now, and I know I don’t regret one moment of it. I just wish I could’ve slowed things down. Maybe then I wouldn’t miss you all the time. But we were too much in love.”

“I’ll never know how you managed such ferocious hunger for love and sex,” Morrissey said. He managed a smile, but his hands were trembling when he brushed them through his hair. 

“I think that’s all there is.” 

“I know that it’s not,” Morrissey remarked. 

He had known it; complete aloneness, a total lack of intimacy and meaningful connections. It had been his life before The Smiths, and it was his life again now, except for the strangers who reached for him when he stood upon a stage, thinking that they knew him, that it was what he wanted. The fact that it was what he needed was lost on most of them. He couldn’t expect them to understand. He couldn’t expect anyone to, not even Johnny. 

“You’d have killed me if you stoped,” Johnny told him seriously. “I think you still would.” 

“John-“ Morrissey started, but Johnny cut him off. 

“Baby, please. I don’t want to argue,” Johnny said quickly. 

“Yes,” Morrissey replied softly. “I don’t either. It’s okay.” 

He rubbed his hands over his face and took a breath, and Johnny moved back up the bed, wrapping his arms around him. Morrissey knew he loved Johnny more, and for longer, than Johnny could ever love him. He had never, and would never, have all of the other man’s heart. But what did that mean? Was he supposed to live without love because he was in love with someone who loved someone else? Johnny gave him what he could. 

“If equal affection cannot be / let the more loving one be me,” Morrissey recited. He rubbed his hand along Johnny’s arm, looking over at him fondly. He tried not to remember how long ago he had torn the page from a collection of Auden’s poetry and sent it over to Johnny through the post. He kissed the guitarist softly, pulling him into his arms. 

“I don’t want to know anyone else the way that I know you,” Morrissey said quietly. 

“Oh, Moz,” Johnny sighed. He kissed Morrissey’s jawline, burying his face into his neck. Of course he felt guilty, but he couldn’t blame Morrissey for being honest with him. He’d have hated it if Morrissey kept these things to himself and let it turn bitter and sour, like ashes in his mouth. He would take anything Morrissey offered him, and hope that maybe someday he’d find someone else. Well, no- he didn’t want Morrissey to have someone else. He couldn’t imagine having to put an end to what they had. He just tried to avoid the thought the best he could, like how Morrissey did with Angie. 

“I don’t want to think,” Johnny said. “I don’t want to remember. I just want what’s right now.” 

“Tell me what to do,” Morrissey said. He was earnest. He couldn’t help it that his mind wouldn’t shut off, that the voice in his head- recalling all the times he’d been hurt, all the times Johnny did what he said he wouldn’t do, all the things didn’t go his way, wouldn’t shut up. 

“Let me be with you again,” Johnny said in a low voice. “It’s all I want.” 

“Is that what you came here for?” Morrissey laughed. 

“To be with you? Yeah,” Johnny said. “I miss you in more ways I can list right now.” 

Morrissey turned his head and kissed him, and they both got busy with being with another once again rather than rehashing painful conversations. It had never taken long between them for things to get heated, and Johnny had Morrissey’s legs up over his hips, the singer’s muscled torso in full view as he propped himself up on his elbows to meet Johnny’s incessant kisses. 

Johnny rutted against him, reaching down to spread precum along his cock as Morrissey bit at his bottom lip. Being with Morrissey brought something else out in him, something that no one else had ever made him feel on that level. He couldn’t help himself from moaning loudly when Morrissey gripped his hair and pulled him in once Johnny started jerking him off while they were kissing. When Morrissey reached down to do the same thing Johnny could only keep it composed for a minute or two until he broke the kiss and pushed Morrissey back against the mattress. 

“I wanna give you head,” Johnny murmured by way of explanation, his lips moving over the singer’s chest. He circled hardened nipples with his tongue, sucking at them lightly. He moved down Morrissey’s body quickly, licking and biting at his hips and his thighs while Morrissey worked his hand along his own cock, enjoying the attention. Johnny pushed Morrissey’s hands away and took him into his mouth without hesitation, his head bobbing while he sucked him off, his hand still stroking his own cock. 

“Oooh, John,” Morrissey moaned. He put his arm behind his head and tangled his hands in Johnny’s hair, guiding the guitarist towards a more comfortable rhythm. Johnny was flushed, he felt a little rusty. He was panting when he pulled away, but when he leaned back in, he fondled Morrissey’s balls while licking the head of his cock, and Morrissey’s back arched with a breathy gasp. 

Johnny let his hands slide lower, gripping Morrissey’s ass, and Morrissey let his head fall back against the pillows, raising his hips. Johnny pulled back off from his cock and kissed his hip, rubbing his thumbs across his arse in broad strokes. 

“Do you want me to?” Johnny asked softly. 

“Yeah,” Morrissey nodded. 

Johnny leaned in and kissed him, lingering for a moment, moving his hand to stroke the singer’s cock while he kissed him. After a while he went back to giving him head, pausing at times to wet his fingers with saliva so he could work his fingers inside of his partner. When Morrissey’s moans began to waver with desire he leaned in and kissed him while he stretched him open and Morrissey jerked himself off, watching Morrissey’s muscles contract and his head fall back with a moan when Johnny’s fingers brushed against his prostate. 

“Yeah, Johnny,” Morrissey moaned.

He was ready, and Johnny quickly pulled his hand away in order to stroke his cock a few quick times before pulling Morrissey closer to him so that the singer would wrap his legs around him. Johnny started pushing in gently, his mouth opening with a gasp when he felt how tight Morrissey was around him. Morrissey’s breath caught, so Johnny stopped himself, his eyes flashing to Morrissey’s. Morrissey bit his lip and pulled Johnny’s face close to his, breathing heavily during the first few thrusts. Johnny was slow and attentive while he let Morrissey get used to the feeling of their bodies together again. He kissed his neck and his ear, moaning softly against his skin as he moved slowly and gently, with surprising discipline after all these years.

Morrissey’s lips were parted and he held eye contact as Johnny flexed his hips to fill him completely, his eyebrows furrowing with a gasp. Johnny started thrusting slowly, listening to how Morrissey gasped with each thrust.Johnny kissed him on the lips, feeling Morrissey’s body shudder with a convulsion underneath him as he slid in deeper, making him tighten up around Johnny’s cock in the process. 

“Ah, baby,” Johnny gasped. “Fuck.” 

Morrissey moaned into the next kiss, his fingernails digging into Johnny’s back. Johnny leaned back a little and started fucking him harder, moving to hold onto Morrissey’s hips, gripping too tight, sure to leave bruises. He moaned when he watched precum trickle from Morrissey’s cock onto the thin trail of dark hair on his abdomen, and felt another wave of pleasure course through his body. 

“Oh- oh, Johnny,” Morrissey gasped. He arched his back and Johnny wrapped his arms around his neck, going slow and deep instead. He kissed Morrissey, keeping their faces close together so they could watch each other. When Morrissey started pulling at his hips exasperatedly Johnny shifted his weight onto his knees and started a faster rhythm, but kept his arms around his neck. 

“Oh, that feels so good,” Morrissey said breathily. 

He smiled, lost in his pleasure, and Johnny kissed him again. He alternated his speed regularly, drawing Morrissey out as much as he could. He raised himself up to go harder and faster, then came back down against Morrissey, his arms around his neck, kissing him anywhere he could reach. When he hit Morrissey’s prostate a certain way the singer’s whole body tensed up, adonis belt showing as he raised his hips for more, his head falling back, exposing that slender throat as he opened his mouth to moan. He almost made Johnny blow it doing that, he had him panting and thrusting so hard that Morrissey swore, but Johnny slowed himself down again before he lost control. 

“You almost came right there,” Morrissey grinned. He looked up at him, putting his hands through Johnny’s hair as the guitarist slowly thrusted against him. Johnny shifted forward and planted his hands on either side of the singer’s shoulders, nodding his agreement. 

“You feel too good,” Johnny told him. “It’s unbelievable.” 

He pulled out and then pushed back in again, going faster this time. Morrissey’s hands ran down his back and settled on his thighs, encouraging the pace to remain the same. Johnny kissed his neck and left a mark behind as he started fucking him harder, listening to the moans and gasps of his partner. Johnny could feel Morrissey’s body starting to tighten up underneath him, the flush from his cheeks had spread down his chest, and Johnny ran his hands along his body when he put his weight on his knees again. 

“Oh god, baby,” Morrissey moaned. “Just like that.” He was jerking himself off steadily, his cock slick with precum. He moved fast, licking his lips as he watched Johnny fuck him. 

“Yeah?” Johnny asked in a low voice. He leaned in and stole another kiss before Morrissey went past the edge. The two of them were panting and gasping against each other’s lips for a moment, and then Morrissey’s body arched underneath him agin. 

“Oh, Johnny,” Morrissey moaned. He moved his hips fervently for more and moaned, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as he tried to contain himself. 

“Are you gonna cum?” Johnny asked. His voice was low with lust, and he kept the same pace while he watched Morrissey start to lose control. 

“Ohh, yes,” Morrissey gasped. His moans soared for a moment and Johnny watched him, gasping with him as Morrissey’s body tightened in anticipation of his release, his hand slowing as he came on his chest, panting and moaning, his body shaking underneath Johnny’s. It took some time for his orgasm to subside, and Johnny thrusted against him gently, watching in awe as Morrissey gripped the sheets and rode out the waves of pleasure, biting his bottom lip trying to stifle his moans. 

Johnny pulled out and jerked himself off for what must have been less than a minute, gasping and panting the whole time, then came in small bursts on Morrissey’s stomach, his whole upper body drooping forward in his release, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Fuck. Oh, wow,” Johnny said breathlessly. He laid back against the mattress, trying to catch his breath. He was always in awe, grinning and full of gratitude after he came. Morrissey loved watching him when he was like that, sweet and adoring. 

“Oh, wow,” Johnny said again. “My fuckin head’s spinning.” 

Morrissey laughed, putting his arm behind his head as he looked over at Johnny. “You’re still exactly what I need,” Morrissey told him. He had a big bottle of water on the nightstand and he took a sip. His hands were still shaking. 

“Happy to help,” Johnny grinned. “Christ, I’m knackered. I’m gonna turn on the shower.” He got up and stretched, laughing when he realized that his knees were weak. He kissed Morrissey on the lips briefly, and Morrissey watched him walk away. He was used to that part, too.


End file.
